Flintlock
by PFDC
Summary: After finding an injured british officer in the snow, Alfred Jones saves his life. While Arthur is recovering, It is found out that more than his body was injured. Flintlock is a rewrite of my first fanfiction, The Story of Two Young Soldiers (See Profile). RATED M FOR: Violence, blood, sexual content (chapter 9 only), language
1. Chapter 1

"Father, son, and the Holy Spirit… Amen" breath hazed up Alfred's glasses as he lifted his hand from the chest of one of his men. The snow was picking up, starting to cover the scattered tracks of the battle and creating sheets over the bodies scattered across the field. Climbing onto his horse, he surveyed the land, seeking any signs of life. A couple of horses wandered in the distance, their saddles crooked from their rider's fall, but it was otherwise quiet.

This was supposed to be a simple ambush to Alfred's troupe; sneak up on the supply wagon, kill the driver, and clean up nicely. A simple mistake by their scout lead to their demise, as there had been a large patrol only a kilometer back from the wagon that now was a shamble of scorched remains. It had gone up in flames shortly after the patrol found them. Now Alfred rode through the field alone. After one more sweeping glance, he turned his back to the field and nudged his horse towards the trees.

As they entered the trees at the edge of the woods, a twig snapped and Alfred's heart raced. Pulling his pistol from his belt and loading it, he edged around the corner, taking a breath when he heard the snorting of a horse. The horse backed up with another snort, it's reins clearly snagged by something, "Easy there, let me help ya big guy," He hopped off of his own steed and trudged through the snow. As he approached, He felt his breath snag in his chest as he saw what the horse was caught on. A British solider slumped against a tree, the reins stuck beneath him. At first the colonist assumed that, like all the others, this man was dead and started to heave his body out of the way to free the animal. Once up close, he saw the tiniest wisp of breath leave the man's mouth. Upon touching him, the man's eyes shot open, a rattled gasp escaping his mouth, "Well ain't ya a lucky bastard?" Alfred mused after his initial shock, kneeling down to get a closer look. The man had sustained a nasty gash across his chest, and his pale face and clouded eyes didn't bode well,

"So lucky to die staring into your ugly mug, how grand," The man muttered back, causing Alfred to chuckle,

"Ya ain't lookin too good yerself there, lad," With that he stood and put his pistol back, "And unfortunately for you, this glorious figure is far from the last thing you'll see," He reached down and tried hefting the other man up,

"Let go of me! I don't need your help!" Alfred shrugged and let go, letting the man crash back onto the ground. Soon after, he was retching blood into the snow,

"Sure you don't need any help? Or will your majesty the King take care of that for ya?" At the glare he received, he let out a chuckle, "What's your name? Or do I not deserve to know as a filthy colonist?" Picking the man up, he ignored the feeble attempts to escape and hefted him onto his horse,

"Kirkland. Arthur,"

"Nice to make your acquaintance Arthur Kirkland," Alfred swung onto the horse behind Arthur after tying the other horse to his saddle and started off through the trees towards the nearby road,

"Do I not get to learn your name?" Arthur asked, sagging over onto the horse's neck. His breathing was still ragged and shallow, and Alfred had to keep hold of him or he would slide off of the horse entirely. The sky was darkening, but if they stopped he would not make it through the bitter night. Reaching back and pulling a blanket from his saddle bag, Alfred wrapped it around Arthur to try and keep him warm,

"My name is Alfred Jones,"


	2. Chapter 2

((I should have mentioned this before, but you will need to know decent revolutionary war history to understand a lot of what I reference in this story. Sorry, I became a huge history buff. I'll try my best to keep the true history references to a minimum))

Warm light flooded through the window, cascading across the bed. Groaning, Arthur shifted, "Shut the blinds, Peter," he muttered. Getting no answer, he rubbed his eyes, "Peter! Shut the damn blin-" He froze as his eyes opened and scanned the room. It smelled like his home; of pines and wood smoke, but the similarities stopped there. Where was he? Certainly not in his cottage in the English foothills. He sat up, letting out a screech and gripping his chest in agony, "What in the hell…" Arthur pulled the quilt from his body, exposing his bandaged chest. He brushed his hand across the bandages, wincing. Just as he was about to try and stand, the door creaked open. Behind it was a very… familiar man, but he just couldn't place where he knew him from,

"Good morning, well I suppose afternoon is more accurate. How're you feeling?"

"I'm OK. Chest hurts and head is pounding… Are you a doctor?" Arthur gave the guy a wary look, unsure whether to trust him or not,

"You look confused. Makes sense, crippling pneumonia combined with a pretty gnarly chest wound put you in shock. What's the last thing you remember?"

Arthur stared at the ground, thinking, "I-I was riding with my patrol group. It was snowing, or had just started snowing. There was an ambush by the Yankees, and I was wounded… Jones. I remember the name Jones are you Jones?"

"Well, that's my last name," he chuckled, "I'm Alfred. Yankee, at your service. Now let me check your wrap, then we should get some food in ya," Alfred approached, but Arthur jumped back as far as he could,

"NO! Get away from me rebel bitch! Where's my patrol?! Where am I?!" Alfred pulled his hand away and ran it through his hair, adjusting his spectacles before dropping the hand to his side. Letting out a small sigh, he spoke,

"You are about 20 kilometers outside of Boston. Your patrol is buried under about a foot of snow. If you're hungry, there's food in the kitchen," With that, Alfred turned and left, slamming the door behind him. Arthur winced at the slam. When he said what he did it sounded, perfectly normal, but maybe what he says to his fellow Englishmen might not come off as humorous to a colonist. Being as careful as he could, he shimmied out of bed. The cold floor made him shudder, and he shuffled out the door where the other man left. This room was far warmer, with a fire crackling in the fireplace and the smell of meat sizzling over it. Alfred was nowhere to be found, so Arthur nabbed a piece of bread and sank into a chair facing the fireplace, "You insult me then proceed eat my food without so much as a thank you?" The colonist kicked the back door closed and dropped his arm load of fire wood where the rest lay in a pile, loading a few logs into the fireplace and stoking the flames, "I must say, I pegged your kind as much more of gentlemen then ya're making yourself out to be," Arthur shot his eyes to Alfred,

"I can be plenty a gentleman when the person I am speaking to deserves such a courtesy,"

"Then I suppose you'll be changing your bandages yourself later," Alfred thudded down a mug of dark liquid on the side table, Arthur raising a brow and looking it over before taking a cautious sip,

"By God was it that, sewage?! Tastes horrid!" Alfred laughed,

"Coffee! Don't ya know we yanks are boycotting tea? This is like tea, but better!" he explained as he pulled a roasted chicken from the oven above the fireplace and set it on the counter to butcher it. Arthur's stomach snarled, but he pushed away his hunger,

"Ah yes, I forgot that you people decided that paying taxes to repay the crown from protecting you during a time of war was somehow abhorrent. What a travesty,"

"No!" Alfred slammed the tip of the knife he was using into the wood counter, taking a breath before continuing, "No. We will not pay taxes to a parliament who we have no say in to pay for a war against the French just to expand their land and wealth. No taxation without representation. That is why we are boycotting tea," Arthur held his tongue, swallowing his pride to try and keep some sort of peace. After a few minutes of silence on both ends, Alfred slammed down a plate with meat, cheese, and bread on it in front of Arthur, "In my opinion, tea's been a little… watery these days, don't you agree?" he smirked and marched out of the house, leaving a seething Englishman in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm glad you find destruction of decades worth of tea a joking matter!" Arthur slammed the door, immediately starting to shiver as his bare feet hit the icy cobblestone path. Alfred rolled his eyes and returned his focus to splitting logs. He was beginning to regret dragging this Englishman from the snow,

"Considering you people think the colonists fighting for their freedom from an oppressive government that treats us like filth is a joking matter, I think you don't have any place to say I'm out of line for making jokes about some leaves," He punctuated his statement with the crack and thunk of his axe hitting wood. He tossed the wood into the growing pile,

"You people? Bloody hell does that mean?"

"Yeah. Red Coats, Brits,"

"You do realize that you are also an Englishman yes? A little water between you and the crown doesn't change that,"

"Actually I am half French," Alfred pointed out, pushing past Arthur to get into the house,

"No wonder you're such a bastard," Arthur said, following him back inside. That caused the colonist to chuckle,

"What can I say? Runs in the family," He strolled into the kitchen and made himself a plate of food, occasionally glancing up at Arthur, who had settled back into his seat by the fire and started to take cautious bites of food, "I promise I didn't poison it. Just eat," Alfred sat down in the chair beside Arthur, startling the man. He watched the Englishman pick at the plate until he finally took a cautious bite.

They ate in relative silence, Alfred occasionally stoking the fire or getting up to refill his plate. The silence felt like it was caving in the room. Alfred hated such stark quietness from another person. He kept shifting his gaze to Arthur, who sat at the edge of his seat and refused to make any firm eye contact with the other man. If he wasn't so uptight and _British_ , perhaps he'd be attractive. Maybe he had just spent too long repressed. He shook his head and stood, taking Arthur's now empty plate and leaving it on the kitchen counter with his own plate,

"Is this your house?" The sudden question startled Alfred,

"Ah, uh. Yes, it is my house," He squatted down in front of Arthur, "Can you sit up? I need to check your bandages,"

"It's rather large for just one man. Do you have a wife?"

"No, was never interested in marriage," He untucked the end of the bandage and started to unwrap Arthur's chest,

"What, are you some sort of sodomite or something?" Arthur snorted with a heavily joking tone. Alfred glanced up with his mouth pressed into a hard line. To most, sodomites were nothing more than a joke. Few people breathed a word about such a _sin_ , and so many saw such men as punchlines to jokes,

"Yeah, something like that," He muttered, then regretted his words. He felt Arthur tense up under his touch,

"You're not serious, are you?" Alfred didn't answer, dropping his hands into his lap. He should've learned by now. Never breathe a word about your… preferences, and avoid the questions, the mockery, and the church. That's what he was taught by another sodomite, but he always seemed to forget. Arthur shot to his feet, shoving past the colonist as he rushed to his room. The door slammed behind him, echoing through the house.


	4. Chapter 4

I apologize for this chapter being mostly about religion. While it will be referenced again, this is not a religious story in whole. Religion was very important during the 18th century though, so it would have felt odd to not address it and it's impact on LGBT people during the time

Love,

A non-theist historian who finds theism very interesting to learn about

* * *

" _You know Arthur, you are twelve already. Any girls you fancy? I know Lord Eddington's daughter is very pretty. You should ask her to dance! I can have the orchestra play you favorite waltz," Arthur peered around the room, hands clasped tightly behind his back. His tailcoat felt so stiff. He missed his old one. It was made of much softer fabric. Diane Eddington was very pretty, but she was so vain. The last time they spoke she cried because Arthur told her her dress was very unflattering. Women, "Arthur!" His mother smacked the back of his head, jolting him out of his thoughts. He sighed and straightened his stance before walking through the party. Friends of his parents tried to strike up a conversation with the quiet child, and he did his best to appease them as his father taught him. Eventually he made it to Diane, who bore another unflattering gown,_

" _Good evening Diane. Your dress is… lovely. Are you enjoying the party?"_

" _Oh! Yes! Thank you Arthur, I am having a grand time! Your family always hosts such wonderful parties!" Arthur nodded a thanks. She was so bubbly and sweet, but no different than any of the other girls his age. Vain. Boring. She started off on some story about her violin tutor and his crazy dog. His eyes swept around the party, doing his best to act attentive. A familiar face emerged from the crowd. George Adams. Son of a family of importers his father worked with, and one of his foxhunting partners. His breath hitched in his throat, heart stuttering. Why did this other man, his_ _friend_ _, make him feel so strange? His feet carried him away from Diane against his will, stopping in front of George,_

" _Arthur! It's been too long! Say, next Sunday after church, my family is taking the hounds out to York! Care to join?" George was two years older than him, yet was already the model of English sophistication. Proud, confident, and attractive. His betrothed was smart, well-mannered and they got along far better than any adult couple Arthur had met,_

" _Ah, yes that sounds like a gay time," Arthur kept his eyes down. Every time he made eye contact with George, he felt strange. His stomach swam, brain fogged. He couldn't breathe,_

" _Arthur? Are you alright? You don't look well, please come sit down," His friend reached out and took his arm, an electric shock rattling through his body. He practically had to be dragged out of the main ball room and to a bench in the foyer. He sat down, but it felt like his body was acting without his input, "Arthur?" his voice was heavy with concern, "You can talk to me, you know. We've been friends since we could walk! Whatever it is,"_

 _Arthur met his eyes for a moment, reading the sincerity in them. George was his best friend, he would understand, right?_

" _So… you know how you say you feel when Esther wears her favorite gown?"_

" _Yes! Like my whole insides get all fluttery!" a loving smile grew on his face as he thought about his betrothed_

" _Yes, exactly. Well I get the same feeling-"_

" _For Esther? You dog! Gandering at my fiancée!" George cut him off with his loud, hearty laugh, slapping Arthur's back_

" _No no, not for Esther… for you," The following silence felt like it was going to crush Arthur. George, for once, did not say something humorous, nor did he lean back against the wall with a relaxed yet confident aura about him. He was stiff, mouth clenched shut in a hard line, "George? I-I'm sorry, this must be strange, but I promise nothing will come of thi-"_

" _Excuse me Arthur," The phrase was so short, almost like a command to end the conversation. George stood and marched away from his friend, disappearing back into the party._

 _It took Arthur almost a half hour to muster the courage to return to the ballroom. What would George say when he saw him again? Sure, it was a strange thing to hear from your friend. Your male friend; but there was no harm in it right? He stood, adjusting his jacket before re-entering the party. A hush fell over the room as he entered, eyes all locked on him. Quiet muttering was exchanged from person to person. George stood with his mother, avoiding eye contact. His mother was a parrot; repeating every little dirty secret spoken in her ear to whomever would listen, and it was clear her damage was done. From the crowd of quiet gossipers shoved his father. In an instant he was grabbed be the collar of his jacket and dragged out of the party, down the hall, and into an empty study,_

" _Have you no shame?! Speaking in that disgusting manner to the Adams boy! Answer me Arthur!" Before he could get a word out, the back of his father's hand collided with his face, knocking him to the floor, "We gave you everything! Raised you by the grace of God and you give us this! A weak willed child who already speaks of sodomy in his youth will surely turn to the devil!" By this point, his father had his belt off and clenched in his fist. He struck Arthur to the ground again, "Leviticus 20:13. If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them. Do you wish to die by God's hand? Damned to Hell for all eternity?!" The belt lashed his face again, streaking blood across the bear skin rug,_

" _No," was all he could muster. A quiet, shaking "no" to try and calm the raging seas behind his father's words,_

" _No. All he has to say is no. Why did God punish me with such an insolent child," He turned and rang the servant call bell near the door. Soon, a young woman scurried into the room, "Send a page to the Royal Military Academy in Woolwich. Inform them there is a new student joining their ranks by week's end. Also have the stable ready a carriage for departure tonight. Perhaps they can beat the devil out of_ _ **this**_ _," he motioned with his belt to the cowering Arthur, who flinched at it's movement. His father followed the servant out of the room, letting the heavy door slam behind him and leaving the young boy in complete darkness._

* * *

Arthur slammed the door, leaning against it as his chest heaved. It felt like the house was caving in on him, knees buckling as he slid to the floor. Waves of uncontrollable panic flooded his system. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't see or hear. His brain was as clear as heavy fog. Suddenly that night at the party played over and over again in his head. It jumbled with his first year of Academy. Vicious beatings from his fellow students as rumors began on how the quiet, lithe young boy ended up at military academy. All because he was a _sodomite_. He sat there, frozen in this torturous spiral, until his body ran out of energy. He was suddenly exhausted, his vision returning but his heart still racing. He moved his hands, which had been gripping his chest, and felt a rush of blood from his wound. With a panicked mind, he tried to re-wrap it, but the blood was quick to soak through. He had to get Alfred, but could he handle being in the presence of a sodomite without shutting down again? What if he rubbed off on him, and he started to get those _feelings_ again? What if the church found out? His worries were interrupted by the plip of blood hitting the floor. He didn't have time for this. Struggling to his feet, Arthur opened the door and shuffled out, afraid to see Alfred after he had run out on him. To his surprise, it was like nothing had transpired. Alfred sat in front of the fire, spectacles tipped down his nose as his eyes scanned the pages of a book. That fluttery feeling started in his stomach. No, not again. He swallowed away the feeling and stepped into the main room. Hearing footsteps, Alfred lifted his head,

"Oh dear, what on earth did you do to tear your sutures? Sit down before you bleed out. On the wooden chair, not my good chair," Arthur was surprised at how unbothered Alfred seemed by the whole situation. He sat down. The colonist soon was in front of him peeling off the wrap and wiping the blood away with a rag to see the damage, "I'm not sure what you did to rip out three sutures, but in the future, please do not repeat it," he threaded his needle, tied a knot in the thread, and began re-stitching the wound. Arthur grit his teeth and looked away. He had gotten stitches before, so he didn't scream and cry like the first time, but it still hurt like a bitch,

"Is it true? A you really a…a-"

"Well if you consider having a merry bout with a man sodomy,"

"What else would it be?" Alfred shrugged, tying off the thread and cutting the tail off before digging around for some fresh bandages, "Aren't you afraid that you'll be spending eternity in Hell?" Arthur spat that out in a very accusing tone,

"No,"

"Is that because you are a prophet of the devil?" Alfred laughed,

"You really believe that a man having sex with another man is enough to make them worshippers of the devil?"

"I'm being serious,"

"I know, and that's a little frightening to me,"

"Have you read the Bible? Leviticus 20-"

"20: 13, yes I have read the Bible several times,"

"Doesn't that frighten you? To have committed a sin so severe that God wishes death upon you?"

"No," Alfred finished the wrap and stood to put his medical items away. He continued, "We are all sinners under the eyes of God, but He knows that. John 1:9, If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. I do not know what church you were raised in, but God is not evil. He speaks once of the sins of sodomy but many times of forgiveness and love, and how those are what really matters,"

Arthur shifted in his chair, "I was raised to fear God's wrath. When I had an… incident, I was sent to military academy, where we were beat for going against what they saw as the word of God. I don't know who to believe anymore," he dropped his head, startling when a bible was pushed under his nose, opened to the book of Peter:

 _Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins._

He lifted his eyes to meet Alfred's, who smiled, "That is the word of God,"

Suddenly, that fluttery feeling returned, but he didn't swallow it away.


	5. Chapter 5

Alfred shut the door with a soft click, resting his hand on the door for a moment. It was early; before the sun rose above the horizon but cast a hazy glow on the sky. Arthur still slept curled up on the chair where he had fallen asleep reading the night before. A fresh coat of snow piled up on the windows, and he had to slog through the calf-high mess to fetch water. The horses snorted and frolicked through the snow. At least someone enjoyed it.

With a sudden gust of wind, the back door slammed behind the colonist, startling Arthur awake. Alfred flinched at the noise, and tried to sneak into the kitchen and set the pail of water down,

"Alfred? What are you doing at this ungodly hour?" He mumbled, drearily glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner,

"I was trying to heat water for a bath before you woke up, but I suppose I'm not too good at being quiet," Arthur grumbled something intelligible and curled back up. Over the past month, They had warmed up to each other a considerable amount. Alfred found Arthur ridiculous yet charming and cute. Not that he dared act on any feelings, what with how Arthur reacted to the mere thought of a sodomite. They often sat around the fire and Alfred would read from the Bible. Once they finished it, he'd chose a book at random from his shelf. Through that, he saw Arthur's demeanor soften a bit. He stopped tensing whenever Alfred would touch him, and his smiles became softer; more genuine. There was still a wall there though. Any time he was about to express any real emotion, he seemed to freeze up and shut down. Recently, Arthur had started to turn down their reading sessions, instead choosing to read to himself. The rejection stabbed Alfred in the chest. He didn't take rejection well, especially when he favored the person.

Dumping half of the water into a pot, he carried the pot to the fireplace and hung it over the smoldering embers. With a few extra logs and a couple puffs from the bellows the fire crackled back to life. Once that water was boiling, he carried it outside to the wash basin just by the door, returning and pour the rest of the water into the pot, "Wake up, before the bath gets cold," Arthur huffed and sat up, stretching. By this time, the sun had risen and was streaking light across the floor. Alfred held the door open for him as he dragged outside, "Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm all set… you can go Alfred,"

"Ah, right, sorry," Alfred shut the door and sighed before returning to his bedroom. He retrieved his flintlock pistol and some cleaning tools, sitting on the corner of the bed and pulling it apart so he could clean it. It was something he did often with both his pistol and rifle. It was calming; kept his mind off of the fact that he couldn't escape the war much longer. General Washington had spent the winter avoiding battles and training in Valley Forge, but the winter was near over. Already a post boy had delivered a request for his presence in Pennsylvania. His uniform haunted him from its place in the corner of his room, the gold Lieutenant Colonel stripes catching the morning light. His cavalry saber mocked him as it hung beside the tailcoat. Shuddering, he returned his attention to cleaning his pistol. Alfred wasn't ready to return to war. He had grown accustomed to the quiet life he'd had the past month. Regardless of Arthur's feelings for him, he enjoyed his company. Now that his wounds were healed, Alfred knew he could leave at any moment, and that terrified the American. He couldn't bear to be alone again. He carefully put the pistol back together, checking it over to make sure it was still functioning.

All of the sudden, there was a heavy knock on the front door. Alfred glanced up, "One moment!" He called, then loaded his pistol, tucking it into his belt against his back. Standing, he walked to the door, cracking it open about halfway. Two men in British uniforms were at the door. They were only infantrymen, "How may I help you fine gentlemen this morning?"

"By order of the King, we are searching for a missing officer. Officer Kirkland. Have you any information on this man?" They handed him a rolled parchment that contained a detailed description of Arthur, "He went missing about 30 kilometers north of here,"

Alfred swallowed, keep a steady gaze as he scanned the paper. If he told the truth, Arthur would be gone, "No sirs, never seen this man. Hardly been able to leave the house with snow like this!" They looked disappointed. He could tell they were being forced to go door to door, "I have to go into town Monday, I could ask around, if you'd like,"

"Yes sir that would be very helpful. Thank you for your cooperation,"

"Of course! I hope you find your man," He closed the door in their faces, folding the parchment. Turning around, he saw Arthur seated by the fire to try and dry off,

"Who was that?"

"Oh, no one, they just wanted directions into town," Alfred slipped the parchment into his pocket, "What would you like for breakfast?"


	6. Chapter 6

Soft footsteps echoed across the floor. Then a clunk of boots being pulled on. A gust of cold air swirled through the room as the door was opened and was carefully shut again. Arthur shifted. He wasn't awake but was no longer in his usual deep sleep. It was so peaceful in the early morning. Alfred woke up before him on most days, and he was coaxed from his room by the smell of breakfast, or of the horses neighing as they were fed. Not this morning. This morning, he was jolted awake by the heavy slam of the door and a freezing blast of wind striking him in the face,

"Alfred? What are you doing at this ungodly hour?" He mumbled, drearily glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. Was the sun even up yet?

"I was trying to heat water for a bath before you woke up, but I suppose I'm not too good at being quiet,"

"You don't say," Arthur grumbled under his breath, trying to go back to sleep. He could tell Alfred was trying to be quiet, but it didn't work out,

"Wake up, before the bath gets cold," He cracked his eyes open and sighed, sitting up and stretching. He stood and shuffled towards the door and reluctantly into the cold. A bar of soap and a towel sat beside the steaming tub of water, "Do you need anything else?" Alfred was still standing in the doorway,

"No, I'm all set… you can go Alfred," He watched Alfred leave with a small smile. He stripped and stepped into the tub, sitting down to try and soak up the heat. Why was he growing attached to this man? This dumb, colonist, Christian, sodomite who was blind without his spectacles, which always sat crooked on his nose. He was loud, rambunctious, and far too worried about Arthur. On the other hand, he was sincere, humorous, honest, and caring. No person had been so kind to him, at least not that he could remember. He still felt himself panic any time he caught himself starting to fall for this man. That was why he shut down their nightly reading. He had once fallen asleep leaning against Alfred. It was the best he'd ever slept. Normally, his sleep was riddled with nightmares and he tossed and turned all night. That night, though, he didn't stir. Come morning, he woke to Alfred's light snoring. They had been sitting on the floor, leaning against the chairs to try and capture the heat of the dying fire while reading a few of Shakespeare's sonnets. When he woke, Arthur scrambled to his room and cowered against his door. No, he can't find feelings for another man. From then on, he read to himself.

It was less about whether or not loving a man was wrong. With how much Alfred spoke of the Bible, he'd convinced him it wasn't such a horrid thing after all. It was his brain's reaction. A few times he tried to let himself feel towards Alfred. For a moment it was wonderful; his heart fluttered and he felt indescribably happy. Suddenly, the words of his father, priest, teachers, and fellow soldiers would flood his mind without warning, drowning him in darkness and fear. If avoiding any feelings for Alfred would stop that flood, then he'd put up that wall. He couldn't take it anymore.

A loud knock echoed to the back porch and shook him from his thoughts. He rinsed the rest of the soap from his hair and stood, pulling on knickers and wrapping the rest of himself in the towel before heading inside to see what the commotion was. Alfred was at the front door, clearly on edge with a hand hovering toward the pistol tucked in his belt. The conversation was intelligible from where he stood, and the door blocked his view of the visitors, so he just sat down by the to dry off,

"Who was that?" Arthur asked as Alfred shut the door, not noticing the piece of parchment,

"Oh, no one, they just wanted directions into town. What would you like for breakfast?"

"I'm not very hungry. You can make whatever pleases you," He stood once he dried off a bit, starting for his room to put on clean clothes. Dropping the towel from his shoulders once the door shut, he ran his hand along the puckered fresh scarring where his wound used to be. The area was still tender, but Alfred had pulled the stitches out a few days ago. The scar crossed his stomach up to his cheat, disfiguring his Army regiment tattoo. The golden cross with a lion atop of it was almost unrecognizable. Perhaps that wasn't such a terrible thing. He slipped on a white blouse and tan breeches and a black belt. The clothes were always clean in his dresser, and never had a tear. Occasionally Alfred would show up after a trip into town with more. He seemed to have endless money. When asked about it, the colonist just shrugged and stated that his parents left him a lot. It made sense. He did mention once his father was a doctor, so they must've been well off.

Arthur left the room, strolling into the kitchen and leaning on the counter to watch Alfred slice bread for breakfast. While they ate like royalty the first week Arthur was here, it was clear that the winter was hitting hard. Breakfast now tended to be little more than bread and milk,

"You look nice today," Alfred glanced up from his work with a smile, surprising Arthur,

"Ah, thank you, though I do wear the same thing every day," he tried to shrug off the compliment, but his cheeks reddened against his will,

"You look nice every day," his cheeks got redder. Right now, it felt good. His heart picked up, and he was smiling for once. Alfred set down the knife and pushed his spectacles up, causing them to fall crooked. As he passed by Arthur to get the milk from outside, the Englishman grabbed his arm,

"Hold on, you look silly," He reached up and straightened out the glasses, "There, much better," His hands slipped to his cheeks, which warmed under his touch. Alfred reached up and placed his hand on his. It felt so natural,

"What are you doing?" Alfred whispered. That question broke through the haze in Arthur's mind,

"What am I doing?" He jerked his hands away. The memories crashed in like a wave against a Cliffside. Hard, and sudden. "No, please, no. Please," He didn't know he was speaking aloud, and the words kept repeating in higher volume until he was screaming. He tried to race to his room before Alfred could see him, but it was too late. The world spun as his legs gave out. The last thing he heard was Alfred's voice yelling at him to stop before everything went black.


End file.
